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He had not feared anything otherwise, but it was the first night he had slept with his door unlocked.
Still he had the vest on, and after all, he reflected--with a smile--that was the safest place. No one could possibly have tampered with it without his knowing the fact.
And he smiled again.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI
ONCE MORE ON THE TRACK
When Gerald was turned out of the farm, it was too late to catch a train to New York. He slept in a roadside shed.
Early next morning he was in the city, and he had made up his mind to go to police headquarters, and tell sufficient of his story to justify a stoppage of the notes.
He pa.s.sed a money changer's on the other side of the way, and looked at the shop.
As he did so, he saw something which turned him rigid.
Emerging from the money changer's was his close companion of the voyage.
It was not so much that which came as a shock to him as the change in the fellow's appearance.
The humpbacked man was no longer humpbacked. The club-footed man was no longer club-footed.
The toothless gums were now filled with teeth, and where there had been a long drawn face, there was now a round one.
The gla.s.ses off, revealed eyes, sharp, shrewd, keen, piercing eyes, which even with the road between them, Gerald recognized in a moment--Lawyer Loide's!
In that moment there flashed on him the knowledge of how he had been robbed.
Loide boarded a pa.s.sing car, and was carried away.
Gerald hesitated. Should he follow? No, he must first ascertain beyond a doubt that the notes were in the man's possession.
He could follow the car in a hack, and catch it up if need be.
He dashed across the road, and entered the money changer's.
"You are the princ.i.p.al?"
"Yes. Vat can I do for you?"
"I am an English detective."
"So."
"I am shadowing a man who has just left you. Stolen notes, a thousand pounds each. Has he cashed one with you?"
"No, no, mine frent. He not haf me so. I makes inquiries first."
Gerald pulled out his note-book.
"Was the note he presented one of these numbers?"
"Dat von."
The index finger of the banker's hand was at work.
"What name did he give you?"
"Loide."
"Richard Loide, lawyer, of Liverpool Street, London?"
"Dat vos so. Here vos his cart."
"Has he left the note with you?"
"I haf lock him in mine safe."
"What to do with it?"
"I am at his oxpense cabling to Englant. Dat is all rights, den I vos pay him--but not now."
"What address has he given you here?"
"Oriental Hall, Seventh Avenue."
"You will not do anything with the note till you see me again? We shall probably arrest him to-night, or in the morning."
"Dat vos so."
"Good-bye for the present."
"Goot-bye."
"Seventh Avenue, Oriental Hotel, drive like fury."
Such were Gerald's instructions to the hackman.
He knew he would get there before Loide. As a matter of fact, he pa.s.sed the car bearing that individual half way.
When he had paid his fare, the number of dollars he had left he could have counted on his finger-tips.
It was a third-rate hotel. While waiting for the hotel clerk, he looked through the visitors' or arrival book. Loide had signed his own name; it stood out boldly, "Richard Loide, London, Eng."
"Is room No. 40 (the next one to Loide's) vacant?" he inquired.
